The weather has suddenly turned, and Autumn is finally here. The days are cooler, and in my nostalgia for all things chilly, I believe I have somewhat jumped the gun by parading around in a sweat-shirt when it is still not yet cold enough to turn the air conditioning off.
But then I was confronted with some real heat: a vicious appliance known as the bathroom heater. This seemingly innocent device blows with the force of a turbine engine, and with a heat second only to a locomotive furnace.
The other day I ran into the bathroom- a side affect of my resolving for the 45 zillionth time to drink 8 glasses of water a day- and on my way accidentally flicked on the heater switch before rushing straight to the toilet.
The heat of a thousand suns errupted in my bathroom.
There I found myself, trapped on the toilet, unable to get up for obvious reasons, and an instantaneous deluge of sweat springing from my pores.
Phil finally came running to my rescue when he heard me screaming maniacally “I’m MELLLTINNNNNNGG!!!” (a la Wicked Witch of the West, after Dorothy throws water on her), and lunged for the off switch as I took what I assumed to be my last conscious breath.
Ok, I’m a drama queen, but that heater really is bloody HOT!
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